


He Like My Disco, He Really Groove Me

by miss_begonia



Series: Vday Verse [4]
Category: Glee, Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_begonia/pseuds/miss_begonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren never lets go of his hand. Wherever they are, whoever’s around, whatever he should be doing but isn’t. He never lets go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Like My Disco, He Really Groove Me

**Author's Note:**

> In which Chris reaches legal drinking age, and shenanigans ensue.

  
Chris awakens to Darren bouncing enthusiastically on his bed. He’s wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a worn blue t-shirt and his hair is a dark, curly mess. He’s looming over Chris like some sort of demented Hobbit.  
  
“They say it’s your birthday,” he sings. “ _Dun dun dun dun dun_ —”  
  
“Oh my gosh,” Chris exclaims. “What is wrong with you?”  
  
Darren does an elaborate air guitar solo that ends with him tipping onto his knees, then collapsing next to Chris, rolling over and cuddling into his side.  
  
“You’re 21 today,” Darren informs him. “I wanted to wake you with song.”  
  
“Blow jobs are better,” Chris says. “FYI.”  
  
Darren sits back on his knees, singing, “ _Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame—_ ”  
  
“Can I send you back?” Chris asks. “Even for store credit. I want a new boyfriend.”  
  
Darren clambers on top of Chris, leans down and bites him under his chin, a light nip. Chris’s back arches, unbidden. He swallows a curse.  
  
“I think you like me,” Darren breathes into Chris’s ear, which does funny things to Chris’s stomach. He cups Chris through his boxers and lifts his eyebrows. “I think you like me  _a lot_.”  
  
“Whatever, I woke up like that,” Chris retorts.  
  
“Because you were dreaming about me?” Darren says hopefully, and it takes every ounce of self-control Chris has not to yank him down and kiss him.  
  
“No, I was dreaming about Hugh Jackman,” Chris lies. While he has had some kinky Wolverine dreams before, he was definitely dreaming about Darren and this thing he does—  
  
“You and your Wolverine issues,” Darren sighs, rolling off him but keeping contact. He slips his hand under Chris’s shirt, thumbing over his hip bone.  
  
 _That_. That is what Chris was dreaming about. He shudders.  
  
Darren looks at him with interest.  
  
“Shut up,” Chris says.  
  
Darren’s smile makes him look almost wolfish, and no, Chris is not going there—  
  
“I’m no superhero,” Darren says, “but I can do this…”  
  
He begins to peel Chris’s pants off his hips, his back curving as he goes down, down, down.  
  
*  
  
“Definitely the black,” Lea says.  
  
They’re in some boutique in Beverly Hills because Lea decided Chris needed a new outfit for his birthday party tonight. He honestly can not tell the difference between this pair of pants and the grey ones they just made him try on. The color, yes. He is not that much of a gay failure. But what else—  
  
“The black does nice things for your ass,” Amber observes, touching her hand to his hip and pushing in a gesture that obviously translates to  _turn around._  
  
“I don’t like you all staring at my ass,” Chris says, voice strained.  
  
“Well, then don’t get these pants, honey,” Amber says. “Because everybody is gonna be lookin’.”  
  
Chris bites his lip. He is 21 today, a 21-year old virgin. Maybe a little ass attention wouldn’t hurt him.  
  
Chris does not even know where his brain goes sometimes.  
  
“Let’s get them,” Chris says, and Lea claps her hands in delight.  
  
*  
  
“I want to know how far you’ve gone,” Ashley says over brunch, and Chris nearly spits his Diet Coke all over the table.  
  
Amber begins to laugh.  
  
“I keep trying to get them to make out in front of me,” Lea pouts, “but they’re not very amenable. When they shot the kissing scenes, I didn’t even get to be on set.”  
  
“I mostly just wanted to see Chris blush,” Ashley says. “Oh my God, I did not think you could get that red.”  
  
“You’ve been dirty, haven’t you?” Lea says. “You don’t blush like that unless—“  
  
“Can you all stop talking?” Chris says, a bit too loudly.  
  
“I would bet Chris is an everything-but sort of guy,” Ashley says. “You seem like you could be a tease.”  
  
“I am not a tease!”  
  
“Darren says you’re a tease,” Lea inserts.  
  
Chris is aghast. Does Darren talk—  
  
“Okay, he doesn’t say that,” Lea amends. “But sometimes he stares at you like he’s Indiana Jones and you’re the Holy Grail.”  
  
“Which, face it, Chris is,” Ashley says, swirling her drink. “The Holy Grail of twinks.”  
  
“You are all terrible people,” Chris says.  
  
“Oh honey,” Amber says, clasping Chris’s hand across the table, “we’re just jealous.”  
  
“I remember when Darren first got cast,” Lea says fondly, as if narrating holiday memories, “and Dianna said she thought he looked like he’d be good with his mouth.”  
  
Vivid images from this morning flash through Chris’s mind – Darren crouched over him, licking up—  
  
He officially wants to crawl under the table and die.  
  
Ashley reaches around Chris’s shoulders and hugs him close. “I think we should stop before Chris asphyxiates.”  
  
“Wait, wait,” Amber says, and whips out her iPhone and snaps a picture. She and Lea look at it and dissolve into giggles.  
  
“Happy Birthday, sweetie,” Amber says, and blows him a kiss.  
  
Ashley signals the waiter. “Could you get this man a drink?”  
  
*  
  
Two mimosas later and minimally less humiliated, Chris waits in his car for the girls to freshen up.  
  
Against his better instincts, he calls Darren.  
  
“I hate you,” he tells him.  
  
“Heyyy, birthday boy,” Darren says, sounding sleepy and infuriatingly sort of sexy.  
  
“You left me with these vultures,” Chris says. “They’re picking over my remains.”  
  
“Are you pre-gaming?” Darren asks. “Because tonight’s party is going to be off the hook.”  
  
“Please don’t say that ever again,” Chris says. “Ever.”  
  
“Hella-cool,” Darren says. “Wicked awesome?”  
  
“All everybody seems to want to do to me today is embarrass me,” Chris complains.  
  
There is a slight pause, and then Darren says, “That’s not what I want to do to you.”  
  
Chris’s heartbeat skips. He and Darren haven’t talked about it, exactly – the way their physical relationship has evolved, or the way it…hasn’t. [That weekend in San Francisco](http://miss-begonia.livejournal.com/260886.html) they’d made some rapid steps forward, and now, six weeks later – well. Chris doesn’t mind third base  _at all_ , but he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life there.  
  
“Really?” Chris asks.  
  
“Really,” Darren says. “God, Chris, you don’t even—I want to lay you out and—”  
  
The phone fuzzes over with static, and Chris almost throws it out the window in frustration.  
  
Darren’s voice fades back in, and he’s saying, “I gotta go, I’m so sorry, Cory’s here and he’s—”  
  
“Dude,” Cory’s voice comes over the line. “I’ve kidnapped your boyfriend, but I promise he’ll be at rehearsal. It’s for a good cause. And then he can talk dirty to you all you want.”  
  
Chris presses his forehead against the steering wheel. If he can get through the rest of the day without any more details of his sex life being made public, he will consider it an accomplishment indeed.  
  
“Bye, buddy,” Cory says cheerfully, and the phone goes dead.  
  
Chris is tempted to scream, but then Lea pulls open the door of the car and hops in.  
  
“Amber and Ashley are on their way,” Lea says. “They thought they saw Leo at the bar and so they’re stalking.”  
  
“Lovely,” Chris says.  
  
There’s a moment of strained silence, and Lea places a hand on Chris’s arm. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I don’t like being some kind of joke,” Chris blurts out.  
  
Lea’s eyes widen. “Oh, darling, no. You’re not – we don’t think of you like that. We just like to tease.”  
  
Chris rubs at his eye with the flat of his hand. He doesn’t know why he feels like he wants to cry. It’s just – he’s so lucky. It hasn’t always been this way.  
  
“I’m kind of freaked out,” Chris says.  
  
Lea leans in and kisses his cheek. When she pulls back her eyes are shining.  
  
“When you’re ready, you’re ready,” Lea says. “I really believe that. And I can’t imagine Darren is going to pressure you.”  
  
Chris ducks his head. Maybe he wants Darren to pressure him, just so he knows Darren is ready too. Darren’s never done this before either, but nobody ever assumes he’d be the one to say no. Maybe Chris should be flattered?  
  
It’s always been like this, though. Chris is the baby, the innocent, the good kid. He never gets to be the instigator, the bad boy, dangerous.  
  
Except – that’s not fair, because Darren lets him be that. Darren lets him shove his hand down his pants in a prop closet and jerk him off while he exhales against Chris’s neck and tries not to make sounds. Darren tells Chris to buy ice cream even though he shouldn’t eat it and then licks it off Chris’s fingers. Darren’s eyes darken whenever Chris says anything even mildly dirty.  
  
 _You are so sexy_ , Darren told him in between takes when they were shooting the kissing scenes for the show shortly after Valentine’s Day.  _I can’t believe this is my job._  
  
The things Chris has said around Darren, that Darren has pulled out of him with his hands and mouth and his own words…God. They are things Chris never imagined himself saying, ever.  
  
They are things Chris can’t imagine saying to anyone else.  
  
“Totally not Leo,” Amber says, sliding into the backseat.  
  
“A cheap imitation,” Ashley says. “I was deceived by the large forehead.”  
  
Chris flicks on the ignition and lets Lea pick music from her iPod. They have to head to rehearsal, which is probably wise since they’re playing a sold out show at Staples Center tomorrow. It would be ideal if they didn’t sound like shit.  
  
“What are you going to drink tonight, Chris?” Ashley asks. “I think you should go for tequila shots. Nice and direct.”  
  
“Body shots would be better,” Lea says. “I’m sure Darren would—”  
  
Chris turns up the volume on his speakers, even though he has no real love for T-Pain.  
  
*  
  
Darren is already there when Chris gets there, and he’s sort of sweaty, which is puzzling, since they haven’t started rehearsing yet. Chris isn’t going to object, though. Darren looks smokin’ with his hair stuck to his forehead and his cheeks flushed.  
  
“Hi,” Darren says, and pulls Chris in and kisses him deeply, tongue exploring Chris’s mouth. Chris makes a small sound and grasps the back of Darren’s neck.  
  
“Yes!” Chris hears Lea shout behind them. “ _Finally_.”  
  
They break apart, and Darren looks disappointed. “We didn’t have to stop.”  
  
“You really didn’t,” Lea calls out, and Chris rolls his eyes.  
  
“You look hot today,” Darren tells him. “I mean, you look hot every day. But you look especially hot today.”  
  
Chris is wearing jeans he bought about a month ago that do fit him well, he can admit that, and a light blue collared shirt. It’s pretty basic, but Darren’s not exactly demanding. This is unsurprising coming from someone who thinks pink sunglasses are fashion forward.  
  
“Thank you,” Chris says. “You look hot too.”  
  
Darren always looks hot, even when he’s not trying, which is annoying. He’s got the stubble and the wild hair and the stupid band t-shirts and Chris still wants to jump him at every opportunity. It’s not fair.  
  
“I’m wearing clean clothes today and everything,” Darren says, grinning. “I even washed my hair.”  
  
“I’m so proud,” Chris drawls.  
  
“Do we really have to rehearse?” Darren whispers against Chris’s cheek. “I want to do stuff to you.”  
  
“I heard there was this party later,” Chris says, a bit breathless.  
  
“There is,” Darren says. “But I don’t want to wait.”  
  
“Places in five, peeps,” Mark calls from across the room. “We’re doing Journey first.”  
  
“Fuck my life,” Darren sighs, and Chris squeezes his hip in sympathy.  
  
*  
  
Rehearsal seems like it lasts nineteen hours instead of four. Chris is so exhausted by the end of it he feels more like going back to his apartment and falling into bed than attending any party, even one thrown in his honor. He doesn’t know where the party is, because Darren refused to tell him, and he’s a tiny bit afraid Darren’s rented out some kind of gay strip club or something. Darren is amazing, but he’s also kind of crazy.  
  
“Come with me, I must dress you,” Lea says, tugging Chris by his sleeve, and he barely gets to wave goodbye to Darren before she and Dianna have pushed him into a towncar and they’re speeding off to…somewhere.  
  
“Where are we going?” Chris asks.  
  
“My place,” Lea says. “You have the pants, right?”  
  
Chris did manage to grab his shopping bags before he was whisked away, and he’s about to ask for more specifics related to  _what the fuck is going on_  when he notices Dianna is starting at him intently.  
  
“I think the MAC eyeliner with the glitter,” she says. “And maybe a little of the Urban Decay?”  
  
“Oooh, that would be hot,” Lea says. “With his light eyes? So pretty.”  
  
“I’m still here,” Chris says, “and I am starting to get very freaked out.”  
  
“Consider this part of our gift to you, baby,” Dianna says, and pats his cheek.  
  
“What, exactly?” Chris asks.  
  
“You’ll see,” Lea says, and blows him a kiss.  
  
*  
  
Lea’s house is decorated in a style somewhere between princess and drag queen, with lots of things that sparkle and spin and cast strange shadows on the walls. Chris has spent a lot of time here, but he’s still terrified every time he comes.  
  
Lea dumps her bag onto the couch and makes a beeline for the kitchen, where she produces the largest bottle of vodka Chris has ever seen.  
  
“This is your friend,” she says, sliding her hand down the front of the bottle in a way that’s slightly obscene.  
  
“We have presents,” Dianna says, and pulls a couple of boxes out of the coat closet.  
  
“You guys didn’t have to—”  
  
“Are you kidding?” Lea says, and gives Chris a wet, smacking kiss on his cheek. “You’re my favorite.”  
  
“Open it,” Dianna says gently, and Chris reaches for the biggest box. He paws through a bunch of pink tissue paper to reveal—  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” Chris breathes.  
  
Chris owns leather, but nothing quite like this. It’s dark grey and so soft, a truly gorgeous piece of work.  
  
“Put it on,” Lea orders. “I hope it fits.”  
  
And fit it does. He examines himself in Lea’s bedroom mirror, the way the jacket curves in at the waist, slimming him at the same time as it makes his shoulders look more broad.  
  
“Oh, I’m so happy,” Lea exclaims, and hands Chris a glass of something suspiciously fruity-smelling.  
  
“This too,” Dianna says, and passes Chris a more square box.  
  
“Seriously,” Chris says, “you guys—”  
  
“Shut up,” Dianna says fondly. “You deserve it.”  
  
Chris’s heart actually stops when he opens the box.  
  
Inside is a baby blue motorcycle helmet.  
  
“You have to be kidding me,” he whispers.  
  
“Oh just wait,” Lea says, and that’s when Chris hears the growling of an engine outside.  
  
“Shut up,” Chris says. “ _Shut up_.”  
  
“We all went in on it together,” Lea says. “We thought – well, you’re 21 now, and [that scooter is cute](http://www.gleefan.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/btschrisscooter_cheerio.jpg), but—”  
  
“You bought me a fucking motorcycle?” Chris gasps. “Are you crazy?”  
  
“Darren said you’d never buy it for yourself,” Dianna says.  
  
This is probably true. Chris could afford one now, but his parents taught him to be careful and frugal. There is no way he could justify the expense to himself.  
  
“Hurry up and put those pants on,” Lea says. “I’m going to do your eyes, because your ride is here.”  
  
“Drink up,” Dianna say, handing him his second drink in as many minutes, and oh, it’s gonna be a long night.  
  
“I can’t drive a motorcycle if—”  
  
“We know, sweetie,” Lea says. “That’s why Darren is your designated driver.”  
  
*  
  
If someone had told Chris six months ago that he was going to spend his 21st birthday on the back of a motorcycle –  _his_  motorcycle – with his hot hot boyfriend, he would have questioned their sanity, and possibly punched them in the arm.  
  
“Figures you would get me a gift that would allow you to pretend you’re a rock star,” Chris says as he slides onto the bike behind Darren and wraps his arms around his waist.  
  
“I’m here for the hog,” Darren says. “Basically.”  
  
Darren smells like leather and cologne, and his hair is wind-ruffled. Chris wants to do him right here, but that might be a little awkward for Lea’s neighbors. Also:  _helloooo, Lea’s drinks_! Chris never did have much of a tolerance.  
  
“You’re wearing eyeliner,” Darren observes.  
  
“It’s Lea and Dianna’s fault,” Chris says. “I can take it off.”  
  
“No, don’t do that,” Darren says, a little too quickly.  
  
Darren is looking at Chris in his extra-intense way, his eyes all dark. Chris flushes.  
  
“This is crazy,” Chris says. “You are aware you’re insane, right?”  
  
Darren’s mouth tips up at one corner, but he doesn’t say anything, just leans in and kisses Chris, firm and unapologetic.  
  
“Your party awaits, good sir,” Darren says, and Chris’s thoughts are eclipsed by the sound of the engine.  
  
*  
  
Chris doesn’t smoke, but damn, after riding a motorcycle with his arms wrapped around Darren’s waist and the vibrations from the road and the engine doing inappropriate things to his nerves, he is totally ready to bum one off one of the many hipsters lingering around the entrance to [the Mondrian Hotel](http://www.mondrianhotel.com/en-us/#/home/).  
  
Which. Wait.  
  
“Is this where—“ Chris starts to say, but Darren interrupts, “Do they valet motorcycles? Is that a thing?”  
  
“Is anyone going to tell me anything about anything ever?” Chris asks. “Because seriously. Come  _on_.”  
  
“You’re so demanding,” Darren says, tossing the keys to the valet and sliding his arm around Chris’s waist in a slick move that leaves Chris a little dizzy.  
  
Or that could be, y’know, the drinks.  
  
The doors to the hotel are huge and wooden, and Chris is grateful for the doorman so he doesn’t have to embarrass himself trying to open them. The lobby is bananas, all orange and white and wood floors and a couch in the shape of a cross and—  
  
“What is the swing for?” Chris blurts out, and Darren raises his eyebrows and sneaks his hand into the back pocket of Chris’s pants while they’re waiting for the elevator.  
  
Darren never stops touching him, which is the best thing in the world, except for how it leaves Chris hot and flustered and shaky. In the elevator Darren pushes him up against one side and pins his arms to the wall above his head, kissing him hard enough to bruise. Chris bucks his hips and Darren laughs into the crook of his neck, an  _evil_ laugh because Darren is evil and secretly trying to kill Chris, tragically ending his life at the age of 21. At least Chris will die without wrinkles.  
  
“You never said what the swing was for,” Chris mumbles as Darren kisses his way up his neck.  
  
“Sex things,” Darren says, his voice hoarse. “Dirty, dirty sex things.”  
  
“Why are swings only good for little kids to play on and kinky sex?” Chris asks.  
  
“You are way too coherent right now,” Darren says. “I must not be doing something right.”  
  
The elevator dings to indicate they’ve reached the Skybar, and when the doors open Naya’s standing there in a stunning black dress cut to her navel, holding a long-stemmed martini glass in one well-manicured hand.  
  
“Hayyyyy, gurl,” she says, and sways slightly. “Chris, we started the party for you. The party is so started.”  
  
Chris can hear loud dance music and the mingled sound of voices and clinking glasses. The [Skybar](http://www.mondrianhotel.com/en-us/#/explore/?id=/mondrian-los-angeles-sky-bar/) is gorgeous, warm yellow and peachy-colored couches and the pearly blue of the pool in the center, and all around people dancing.  
  
Darren’s hand tightens at Chris’s waist and he knows it’s an unanswered question,  _do you like it_? Chris leans back into him and closes his eyes, just for a second, thinking:  _this is my life, this is my life, this is my life._  
  
“Kevin and Heather are over there with Amber,” Naya says, gesturing to the bar. “You need drinks. So many drinks.”  
  
“I’ll get you a drink,” Darren murmurs into his ear. “You should enjoy yourself tonight, Chris. But don’t drink too much, okay?”  
  
Chris blinks at him, perplexed. Since when did Darren become a PSA?  
  
“Some things are more difficult to do drunk,” Darren says. His mouth curves up at one corner.  
  
Oh.  _Oh.  
  
Oh God_.  
  
*  
  
“Dayum, Chris,” Amber says, one hand on her hip. “You look  _fine_.”  
  
“Thank you,” Chris says, sipping his vodka martini. He feels so grown up under the hanging lanterns on the rooftop of this amazing hotel, wearing leather and drinking a cocktail, and okay, this being 21 thing isn’t so bad.  
  
“The pants were a good idea,” Amber says. “And that jacket is delicious.”  
  
Chris wants to be able to focus on his friends and the insanity that’s going on around him, but Darren brought him the drink and disappeared, and now Chris feels un-anchored, tippy.  
  
When did he become like this? He guesses right about [the time Darren kissed him on Valentine’s Day](http://miss-begonia.livejournal.com/260186.html). It all went to hell in that instant – his restraint and self-control and common sense, all gone.  
  
And now – now he’s got these thoughts in his head, thoughts about Darren fucking him, which is really unfair. Darren should not have put those thoughts in his head, because now Chris isn’t going to be able to think about anything else, and this is  _his birthday party_ , so it would probably be a social faux pas for him to leave now, find Darren and drag him into the closest room with a door.  
  
“Hey,” Darren says, placing a hand on Chris’s shoulder, and wow, he didn’t even see him approach.  
  
“Hey,” Chris says, looking up at him.  
  
Darren’s eyes are warm and bright. He holds out his hand.  
  
“You should dance with me.”  
  
“What? No. No, I don’t dance,” Chris says.  
  
“You’re on a show about musical theater,” Darren says. “You totally dance.”  
  
“Yes, but not  _well_ ,” Chris says.  
  
“Talent is not required,” Darren says, and grasps Chris’s hand. “Come on.”  
  
Chris tries to object, but the music is loud and Darren is stubborn, and before he knows it they’re beside the pool surrounded by other people dancing. Mark is doing some kind of approximation of the funky chicken, and Kevin is teaching Cory how to do the running man with dubious success.  
  
“See?” Darren murmurs in Chris’s ear, and he shivers. “Skills are definitely not necessary.”  
  
Darren feels so good like this, pressed to Chris’s back, one arm around his waist and pulling him in. Chris feels the tension drain out of him as Darren spreads his palm across Chris’s stomach. They sway together.  
  
They never do this, Chris realizes. Be together, in public. He wonders for a paranoid second if there are people around with iPhone cameras and an agenda, if he should be worried. Then he thinks:  _Screw them_.  
  
“Before,” Chris says. “You were – you were talking about what I think you were talking about, right?”  
  
Darren’s hand curls in Chris’s shirt.  
  
“What do you think I was talking about?”  
  
Sometimes Chris hates Darren kind of a lot.  
  
“Don’t be mean to me,” Chris whines. “It’s my birthday.”  
  
“I plan to be very nice,” Darren says, and his voice sounds like the ocean, rolling and rough.  
  
“You don’t have the slightest idea how to fuck a guy, do you?” Chris says.  
  
“No clue,” Darren says, and Chris can feel him smiling against his neck. “I thought you’d teach me.”  
  
*  
  
The next few hours pass in a tipsy blur. People keep handing Chris drinks, and he sips from them, gives them to Darren and Darren disposes of them. By 2 am he’s probably sampled most of the bartender’s ouvre, but he’s not that drunk. He does feel more relaxed, but he’s not sure if that’s the liquor or Darren’s presence at his side, hand on his waist or his shoulder or his arm, or – the best – his fingers threaded through Chris’s.  
  
Lea flits by at one point and tugs Chris into the ladies’ room to fix his eyeliner. He admires how steady her hands are after what has clearly been a number of cocktails, and when he asks her how she acquired this skill, she says, “Practice.”  
  
Chris doesn’t mean to say it, but Lea is there and bouncy and wide-eyed and his friend. It just comes out.  
  
“I think it’s going to happen,” he says. “Tonight.”  
  
Lea blinks, slowly, and places one hand on Chris’s arm.  
  
“Chris,” she says, very seriously, “take pictures.”  
  
Chris laughs so hard he can’t breathe, and Lea has to coax him through some yoga breathing before he can go back to the party.  
  
He sees Darren on the other side of the pool talking to Chord, and he watches the way Darren’s moving his hands and nodding and he knows, he  _knows_  Darren’s talking about Harry Potter, or maybe music, or the ten thousand other things that animate Darren and turn him into this spazzy, hyperactive vibration of a person. He wants to be next to him so he can feel that energy, but he also wants to stand here and watch him, because he loves watching Darren. Darren is beautiful, and kind of a freak, and sometimes Chris thinks he might be perfect.  
  
In high school, when Chris would daydream about boys, he’d imagine someone tall and athletic and confident and experienced, someone who’d come along and sweep him off his feet and teach him everything he needed to know. It would be like the one-stop-shopping of gayness, easy in a way that none of the rest of Chris’s life ever was.  
  
Darren is none of those things. Darren likes girls and has no fashion sense and makes inappropriate jokes and overshares. And yet for all that Darren is an open book, every time Chris thinks he has him pinned down, he pushes Chris in some vital, unexpected way that forces him to adjust his picture of him. Darren isn’t easy to figure out, but he is so easy to be around, so easy to want.  
  
“Dude,” Cory says, and Chris jumps.  
  
“Hey,” Chris says.  
  
“I’ve hardly seen you tonight,” Cory says. “You having a good time?”  
  
Chris nods. “This place is pretty amazing.”  
  
“Just wait,” Cory says. “The best part is coming up.”  
  
Before Chris has a chance to clarify this alarming statement, Cory’s disappeared into the crowd. The lights flicker, then go dim. A raised platform is illuminated by the pool, and Darren steps into the spotlight, holding a microphone. Chord, Cory, Kevin and Mark linger behind him.  
  
When Chris hears the chiming bells, his brain takes a moment to catch up, but when it does, he thinks  _Oh my god I am going to kill him_.  
  
“[ _It’s your birthday so I know you want to r-i-i-i-de out—_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYMxOzxKYYo) ”  
  
A chorus of drunken whoops and cheers erupt, but then the bass line drops out, and Darren says into the mic, “That was a joke! Chris, breathe. It’s okay.”  
  
Chris feels like he’s going to faint. Amber appears and squeezes his shoulder, and he briefly considers whether she could support his weight if he collapses.  
  
“So today is Chris’s 21st birthday,” Darren says, “and it’s sort of hard to believe, because Chris is nothing if not precocious.”  
  
“ _Yeah_  he is!” someone who sounds suspiciously like Ashley shouts from somewhere to his left. Chris makes a mental note to kill her later.  
  
“The thing about Chris is, he’s always giving to people,” Darren says. “Whether it’s in song, or his sense of humor, or the stories he tells, or how he listens, or just his energy. He is so generous. He has given me so much, and I – I just wanted to give something to him.”  
  
This is so Darren: earnest in a way no one argue with, because it’s so genuine.  
  
There’s a lot of awwws, and a few wolf whistles.  
  
“So because there ain’t no party like a  _Glee_  party,” Darren says, “I’m gonna sing him a song, with the help of these fine fellows right here.”  
  
This time when the music kicks in, Chris recognizes it immediately. He feels his cheeks heat, and he curls his hand at his side so he doesn’t reach out.  
  
 _You said I’m stubborn and I never give in  
I think you’re stubborn ‘cept you’re always softening…_  
  
Chris remembers when they first listened to this album and this song together, sprawled on the floor of Chris’s apartment, Chris reading  _US Weekly_  while Darren rifled through his CD collection. Adele’s voice filled the room and Darren said,  _Her songs are so perfect. They tell stories.  
  
Walking with each other  
Think we’ll never match at all  
But we do, but we do, we do…_  
  
On the trip back to L.A. from San Francisco they played Adele’s new album all the way through four times in a row. Chris watched farmland slide by his window, the same farmland he’d hated so much when he was a kid because it felt oppressive and flat and all the same, just like the kids he went to school with, just like his bland suburban hometown. But this time it felt different, partly because they were driving through and away from it, and partly because Darren never let go of his hand.  
  
Darren never lets go of his hand. Wherever they are, whoever’s around, whatever he should be doing but isn’t. He never lets go.  
  
Chris remembers that first time they ran through “Teenage Dream” on set. Darren reached out and it was all Chris could do not to reach back. He didn’t even know Darren then.  
  
 _You’re so provocative, I’m so conservative  
You’re so adventurous, I’m so very cautious, combining  
You think we would and we do…_  
  
Chris blinks back into the present. Amber’s grasping his arm a bit too tightly for comfort, and he has to remind himself to breathe.  
  
The song is beautiful, and Darren sings it beautifully, and the boys of New Directions back him up with solid harmonies. Chris tries to remember the last time someone sang to him. He feels like it might have been Darren, on one of those days that work didn’t feel like work at all.  
  
When the song is over, the whole place explodes with applause and shouts. Chris feels Amber push him forward, and it’s almost like the movement of the crowd is propelling him. All roads lead to Darren. Cory pats him on the back and Chord gives him five and Mark blows him a kiss, and then Darren is there, and he’s pulling Chris in, and they’re kissing, kissing, and Chris feels like the whole world is in slow motion, two boys running down a hallway with their fingers and futures entwined.  
  
*  
  
Chris’s watch reads 3:30 am when they finally stumble out of the elevator and down the hallway to the room Darren got for them – or should Chris say  _suite_ , because the place is swanky. When Darren manages to get the door open, Chris is overwhelmed by [the whiteness of it all](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HKxqnqDKHs8/TVgWOK1pGRI/AAAAAAAABEQ/RDqNG6AjTuc/s1600/modrian%2Bapartment.jpg) – white couch, white pillows, white furry pillows on top of those, white filmy curtains. There’s a white marble table with silver-backed chairs and actual silver dishes, and the bed is covered with white bedding and a translucent duvet.  
  
“What the hell even is this place?” Chris says. “I’m going to lose my virtue inside a wedding dress?”  
  
Chris is not super-steady – five hours of drinking, even sipping drinks, is plenty when you hardly ever drink and you’re not exactly a giant. He trips on the (white) carpet and Darren catches him by the arm, preventing his fall.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I tried not to drink too much—“  
  
“It’s okay,” Darren says. “It’ll make it last longer.”  
  
Chris raises an eyebrow. “A little cocky, aren’t we?”  
  
“I meant for me,” Darren says, a bit breathless, and curls his hand around the lapels of Chris’s jacket and tugs him in for a kiss.  
  
Kissing Darren is like – Chris doesn’t even have words. He’s so solid and firm, never tentative, even when he’s gentle. He pushes his hand into Chris’s hair and angles the kiss so it’s deeper, tongue stroking along Chris’s teeth. He moans softly and Chris feels it everywhere, in the tips of his fingers where they’re touching Darren’s chin, in his lips and every vertebrae of his spine.  
  
“I know I said—“ Darren says when they come up for air. “I’m not trying to pressure you, okay? Whatever you want – you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, today or any other day.”  
  
“It’s already not my birthday anymore,” Chris says, shedding his jacket and letting it drop to the floor. “I think maybe you should quit talking and fuck me.”  
  
The look on Darren’s face, which falls somewhere between shock and awe, is priceless.  
  
“Okay then,” he says, mouth shaping into a predatory grin, and pushes Chris backwards until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Gravity and tipsiness takes care of the rest – Chris is flat on his back before he can prepare a retort.  
  
“How do you want to do this?” Darren says. “I did research.”  
  
“What kind of—you know what, I don’t want to know.”  
  
“Lots of porn,” Darren says, pushing Chris’s t-shirt up, sliding his hands along his sides. They’re a little cold, probably from holding all those icy glasses for Chris, and Chris twitches.  
  
“What—what kind of porn?” Chris stutters.  
  
“All kinds,” Darren says. “There’s a lot of porn out there with guys who look like you.”  
  
Chris flushes. He hasn’t seen a ton of porn – he has watched some, of course, but most of it seemed so dumb, and the guys were huge and shiny and fake, and none of it looked like sex looked in Chris’s head.  
  
“That’s kind of creepy,” Chris says.  
  
“Totally creepy,” Darren says. “I think we could make a much better porno, personally.”  
  
Chris laughs, but it sounds high and nervous. He feels light-headed. Darren is tracing patterns over his stomach with his fingernail and looking up at Chris from under his long, long eyelashes and God, Chris is so turned on.  
  
“That’s all we need, a Kurt/Blaine sex tape,” Chris murmurs.  
  
“You know we’d have to the wear the uniforms,” Darren says, “and then I’d strip each layer off you, slowly, unwrap you like a present and bend you over a desk—”  
  
Chris’s eyelids flutter shut. He can feel Darren press a kiss to his stomach, his tongue darting out to lick. He threads his hands through Darren’s hair without thinking. Darren muffles his groan against Chris’s skin, which sends interesting vibrations through Chris’s body.  
  
“I want you to tell me what to do to you,” Darren whispers, and Chris shudders.  
  
“I thought you did all this research,” Chris says, voice thin.  
  
“Yeah,” Darren says softly, and slides one finger between the waistband of Chris’s pants and his skin. “And now I’m researching you.”  
  
Chris isn’t even sure that makes sense, but he doesn’t care, because Darren’s pressing his hand over the fly of Chris’s pants, a light, teasing pressure, and biting his lip.  
  
“Kiss me,” Chris says, and Darren surges up and seals his mouth over Chris’s. He crouches between Chris’s legs, and when Chris wraps his legs around Darren’s waist and pulls him in, Darren gasps against his lips.  
  
“Holy…shit, Chris,” Darren breathes. He’s sweating. He pushes his hair out of his eyes.  
  
“We should probably take some clothes off,” Chris says.  
  
Darren has his shirt over his head in seconds. Chris takes a moment to admire the shape of his torso, his tight stomach muscles, the trail of hair that runs down the center of his chest to his belly button, and…lower.  
  
“Quid pro quo,” Darren says, and God, he’s such a nerd.  
  
“I thought I was giving the orders here,” Chris says.  
  
“Oh, so that’s how it is,” Darren says, and begins to unfasten his belt. “You want me to fuck you with all your clothes on? That might be difficult.”  
  
Chris has a quick, incendiary image of Darren lifting him onto a table somewhere and fucking him with his pants around his ankles, but wow, yeah, maybe they should take it one step at a time.  
  
He sits up just enough to pull his shirt over his head, and then he lets Darren help him get his pants off.  
  
“These are new, aren’t they?” Darren says. “They make your ass look amazing.”  
  
Chris smirks. He’ll thank Amber and Lea for that later.  
  
They’re both down to their boxers now, but for some reason Darren’s standing at the foot of the bed, shifting from one foot to the other.  
  
“Come up here, dumbass,” Chris says, and Darren’s face breaks into a smile as he clambers onto the bed.  
  
“I don’t really know how this part works,” Chris says, and he can feel the blush spreading down his chest.  
  
Darren’s a little red himself, which makes Chris feel better, but then he says, “I – I haven’t done this with a guy, but – I mean, I’m not saying you’re like a girl, because you’re not, but maybe—”  
  
“Darren, oh my God,” Chris says, rolling his eyes. “Find some lube and finger me and try not to fuck it up.”  
  
Darren laughs, then rolls off the bed to retrieve the small tube. He squeezes some onto his fingers and makes a face. “This stuff is gross.”  
  
“Yeah, but you know what?” Chris says. “We’re grateful for it, because one way in which I’m not like a girl? I don’t get wet.”  
  
Darren gets redder, which is kind of hilarious.  
  
It’s also disconcerting.  
  
“Are you okay?” Chris asks, and Darren exhales a shaky breath and says, “Yeah. Yes. I just—”  
  
“If you don’t want to—”  
  
“I want to do it,” Darren says. “I just want to do it right.”  
  
Chris feels warmth flood through him. Darren is stroking Chris’s thigh with his non-sticky hand. He looks helpless, even scared, and Chris has never seen him look like that before.  
  
“You’ll be fine,” Chris says. “Come on, you’re acting like you’re the one who’s gonna get a dick up his ass.”  
  
Darren chokes on a surprised laugh. “You’re kind of filthy with a little liquor in you, dude.”  
  
“I’m kind of filthy with  _you_ ,” Chris says, and then Darren’s kissing him, kissing him and pushing his boxers off his hips, kissing him and slipping his hand between Chris’s legs, and okay, maybe it’s not the most graceful thing ever, but when Darren slides the first finger in it feels better than when Chris has done this to himself. The angle is better, or Darren’s fingers are longer, or – you know what, it probably has something to do with the fact that a part of Darren is inside of him.  
  
“Yes,” Chris hisses, and Darren is watching him, and kissing him each time he moves or shifts, and when he presses in a second finger, Chris makes a sound he’s pretty sure he’s never made before.  
  
“Are you—” Darren says, starting to draw out his fingers, but Chris reaches down and grabs Darren’s wrist. “No, no, stay, stay, don’t stop.”  
  
Darren’s eyes widen. “Wow,” he whispers, and twists his hand and hits the spot Chris always thought was a fabrication. He arches his back and feels his breath catch.  
  
Chris hates to think what he must look like, pink all over and squirming, but Darren doesn’t seem to mind. His lips are parted and his eyes are dilated and his voice is hoarse when he says, “Three?”  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut and nods, exhaling, and wow.  _Wow_. He can’t even think. He can hear Darren breathing, and he can feel – well. Everything. He wants—  
  
“Oh God,” Chris moans, and Darren says, “Tell me, Chris. Tell me what you want me to do.”  
  
Chris doesn’t know what he wants. He thinks:  _closer_. He thinks:  _inside_. He reaches out and Darren grasps his hand, and when he opens his eyes, Darren brings Chris’s hand to his lips and kisses it.  
  
“Do it,” Chris says.  
  
Darren blinks. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt—”  
  
“I don’t care if it hurts,” Chris says. “Do it now. Please.”  
  
Darren withdraws his fingers slowly, carefully. Chris’s heart is beating so fast. Darren doesn’t look away, just wipes his hand on the sheets and lies down next to Chris, wrapping his hand around Chris’s waist and drawing him closer, kissing him softly. The feeling is such a contrast from the force of his fingers, inside, and Chris shivers even though Darren is so close and so warm and so, so, so.  
  
“I love you,” Darren says.  
  
His voice breaks when he says it, and Chris is so caught up in his eyes that for a few seconds he forgets to say it back.  
  
“I love you too,” Chris says, and Darren buries his face in Chris’s neck, inhaling so deeply Chris can feel it, the movement of air against his skin.  
  
“Please, Darren,” Chris murmurs.  
  
Darren wriggles out of his boxers and presses along his side. He’s hard. Chris is hard too. There are too many things going on at once, and then Darren is crouching above him, and he’s putting on a condom, and fuck, this room is so white, white and silver and strange, and suddenly Chris realizes he wishes this was happening in his own bed, or even in Darren’s.  
  
But there’s no reason it can’t happen there next time. There’s no reason they can’t do this again, and again, and again.  
  
“I’m sorry if I suck at this,” Darren says, and Chris laughs.  
  
“Practice makes perfect,” he tosses back, and that’s when Darren pushes in.  
  
It’s not like Chris’s fingers, or even Darren’s, or anything Chris has ever felt before. There are no equivalents or metaphors. It hurts, and when he tenses it hurts more, and Darren strokes his hip, fingers flickering over bone.  
  
“You are so…” Darren says, stilling and waiting, and Chris breathes out. “You are so –”  
  
Chris moans, and Darren’s eyelashes flutter, and when he pushes forward Chris doesn’t resist or tense quite as much, and it feels—  
  
“Jesus, Chris,” Darren breathes. “I didn’t think – I don’t know what I thought but I didn’t think it would feel like this.”  
  
Chris wants to be able to say something, anything, but instead he just grasps the back of Darren’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss, all tongue. Darren thrusts and  _there, oh, oh_ , that’s the spot again, and Chris’s body tingles with it, a murmur that becomes a song when Darren does it again, and again.  
  
Chris comes when Darren wraps his hand around his cock and bites Chris’s lip, hard. He’s sweaty and his breathing stutters and he’s sure his eyeliner is a mess, and he really does not give a fuck.  
  
*  
  
Chris wakes in the morning to both of their phones buzzing, Darren’s on the floor in the pocket of his discarded jeans and Chris’s on the bedside table. He briefly entertains a fantasy where they are members of a team of superheroes being called to duty, but then he remembers,  _Dammit, we have to work today_.  
  
His phone stops vibrating for a few blissful seconds, and then it starts again. He fumbles for it just to shut it up.  
  
“What?” he growls into the phone.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Lea shouts. “I waited as long as I could. But you guys need to get down here. We have to do some set up.”  
  
Darren shifts next to him on the bed, making little sleepy sounds, and Chris pushes one of his curls out of his eyes. God.  _God_.  
  
“…Chris?” Lea is saying. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Chris says. His voice sounds scratchy. “Where and when?”  
  
“At Staples Center in an hour,” Lea says. “Leave time for traffic, there’s a bitch of an accident on the 101.”  
  
“We’ll be there,” Chris mumbles.  
  
“Awesome! And Chris?”  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
“Are you okay? I mean – are you really—”  
  
“I’m fine,” Chris repeats.  
  
Darren turns over onto his back and opens his eyes. He smiles.  
  
“I’m fabulous,” Chris says.  
  
“Yay!” Lea shouts, and Chris says, “I’m hanging up on you,” before she can ask any other most likely inappropriate questions.  
  
He tosses his phone onto the floor and snuggles into Darren. Darren pets his hair.  
  
“I don’t wanna get up,” Chris complains.  
  
“Mmm,” Darren agrees.  
  
He kisses Darren, just a quick one, a promise. Chris has a firm no-kissing-before-teeth-brushing rule, but whatever, he and Darren had sex last night. Morning breath seems like a minor concern.  
  
Chris feels his pulse quicken.  _Jesus_. He and Darren  _had sex_.  
  
Which is not to say oral sex is not also sex, or that they haven’t been intimate before, but…there is something different today. He did something last night that straight boys by definition don’t do. He felt something straight boys don’t experience. There have been so few times that Chris thought:  _I can do something you can’t.  
  
I can hit that note. I can kick that high. I can beat you in debate.  
  
I am better than you even though you make me feel so much worse._  
  
All those years, wishing he could be someone he’s not, and this morning Chris woke up and thought:  _I don’t want to change._  
  
Chris wonders if people will be able to tell. Not that they’re going to need to do a whole lot of guesswork. Lea’s going to tell everybody anyway.  
  
“You’re thinking so loud,” Darren says. “And I have a headache.”  
  
Chris snorts.  
  
“Regrets?” Darren asks.  
  
He sounds like he’s trying to be light, but his voice wavers.  
  
Chris meets his eyes, his mouth twisting up at one side. “No regrets, just—”  
  
Darren leans in and kisses him, cutting him off. Chris used to have a real pet peeve about that, like,  _listen when I’m talking_ , but honestly? Darren Criss can interrupt him any time he wants.  
  
He thumbs over Chris’s jaw and nips his lower lip, and okay, if they don’t stop, this is going to get down and dirty. Chris loves Darren, but he’d rather not lose his job.  
  
Chris pulls away, and Darren chases his lips, grasping the back of his neck.  
  
“We have to get up,” Chris says, pressing their foreheads together. “We’re gonna be late for rehearsal, and we have a show at 3.”  
  
Darren hangs his head and actually pouts, which is un-fucking-fair.  
  
“Don’t do that,” Chris says. “Seriously.”  
  
“I want to stay here,” Darren says. “Well – I mean, maybe not  _here_ , because this place is a little creepy, but…I want to be with you.”  
  
“You can be with me at rehearsal,” Chris says.  
  
“Not the same.”  
  
“Of course it’s not the same,” Chris says. “For example, I will probably be wearing pants at rehearsal.”  
  
Darren squeezes Chris’s bare hip. “Just the first of many things wrong with that situation.”  
  
Chris cocks his head to one side. “This is—”  
  
“Please don’t say awkward,” Darren says. “I don’t want it to be awkward.”  
  
“I was going to say  _not weird_ ,” Chris says. “It’s amazingly not weird.”  
  
Darren stares at him for just long enough to make Chris feel self-conscious.  
  
“Yeah,” Darren says.  
  
He’s still staring.  
  
“What?” Chris says. “Is there something in my teeth?”  
  
“I’m trying to figure out how to ask, ‘Was it good for you?’ without asking...if it was good for you.”  
  
Chris blinks. “You were  _there_ , Darren. What do you think?”  
  
Darren grins, tugging a hand through his hair. “That is so not an answer.”  
  
“Fine, so…I took your gay virginity last night, Darren,” Chris says. “How does that make you feel?”  
  
Darren’s laugh is warm and laced with surprise.  
  
“Pretty fucking awesome,” Darren says. “I feel excellent about it. Job well done, you.”  
  
“Sweet,” Chris says. “I would say that for being my only gay sexual experience, you were also the best.”  
  
“This is good to know,” Darren says, nodding.  
  
“Next time, maybe don’t preface it by apologizing,” Chris says. “That didn’t inspire a lot of confidence.”  
  
“I didn’t  _have_  a lot of confidence.”  
  
“Well, now you know you’re good at it, so you can be more confident.”  
  
“I’m good at it?” Darren says. “Hmm. Interesting.”  
  
“Hey, I said you could be more confident, not that you could be an arrogant douchebag.”  
  
“Noted.”  
  
Chris is smiling in spite of himself. Darren rests his chin on his hands and looks up at Chris with an expression Chris can only interpret as affectionate.  
  
“So today, when I’m singing about getting someone alone, is it okay if I imagine you naked?” Darren asks.  
  
Chris sighs. “ _Darren_.”  
  
“I mean, I already do that. But I thought maybe I should ask.”  
  
“What if I say no?”  
  
Darren bites his lip. “I don’t know if I can self-censor like that.”  
  
“Oh, like you ever self-censor about  _anything_.”  
  
“You know what I think?”  
  
Chris rolls his eyes. “Entirely too much. I know entirely too much about what you think.”  
  
“I think you can keep your toys in the drawer tonight.”  
  
“Ug, God,” Chris groans. “I can’t believe I took your gay virginity last night.”  
  
“I know, right?” Darren says. “In the future, you should probably be more discerning about who you de-virginize.”  
  
“So many virgins, so little time.”  
  
“Totally,” Darren says, and presses a kiss to the corner of Chris’s mouth. “That’s what I always say.”  
  
*  
  
At the show that afternoon, Chris is mostly fine – his voice stays steady and on pitch, even when Darren looks at him with shining eyes and smiles wide and winks.  
  
He only screws up once.  
  
When they sing “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” Darren reaches out between  _you’ve really been grand_  and  _I thrill when you touch my hand_. It’s unscripted and too literal and he’s never done it before, and yet Chris still takes his hand when he offers it, on automatic. Darren squeezes his fingers tightly and meets his eyes, and Chris misses his next line entirely. He manages to make it through the rest of the song, but every so often for the rest of the show and on into the night, he’ll hear Darren’s next line, repeated over and over in his mind:  _How can you do this thing to me? How can you do this thing to me?_


End file.
